


Perchance to Dream

by starrdust411



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Black Mercy, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Drama, Dreams and Nightmares, M/M, Mind Manipulation, Mindfuck, Slash, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 10:57:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13762647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdust411/pseuds/starrdust411
Summary: Everything felt warm and right and good, as if the stars had found a way to align themselves just for him. Steve felt his smile widened as the thought settled comfortably in his mind just as the walls began to shake and his head started to buzz.





	Perchance to Dream

The air was getting thicker, warmer and Steve could actually feel the sweat begin to bead against his brow. He took a moment to wipe his forehead with the back of his arm and found himself blinking rapidly as his eyes began to water. Glancing down at the cutting board, he decided there were more than enough onions for the stew. With practiced ease he carefully gathered the chopped vegetables and poured them into the pot waiting on the stove before going over to the small kitchen window and yanking it open. The cool air of early spring poured into the room, pushing out the scent of freshly chopped onions and causing the sweat to all but dry away in what felt like an instant.

The window offered a lovely view of the brick wall of the adjacent building, but Steve didn’t mind. The apartment was high enough off the ground that he couldn’t smell the garbage down in the alleyway when the sun was hot or hear cars honking from the road so it all seemed fine. 

Static began to fill the kitchen and Steve frowned as he turned towards the radio resting on the table. It was doing that strange thing again, the signal always seeming to grow weaker whenever adjusting the antenna would be the least convenient thing to do. He groaned and wiped his hands on his dish towel before stepping over to fiddle with the metal rod until sound came from the speaker once again. 

The announcer’s voice came back on, describing the next batter in the lineup while out in the living room the sound of laughter and toys clattering could be heard almost as clearly as the radio chatter. “Better start putting those toys away soon!” Steve called out as he turned back to his stew. 

Steve listened to the radio distantly as he cooked. The game was remarkably uneventful which was fine since his focus was on making sure the beef didn’t overcook as the broth began to simmer. Outside the street lamps were starting to come on one by one as the air began to turn cooler. He called to the children one more time to come set the table before shutting the window.

Sarah came into the kitchen first and gathered the plates where they had been resting on the counter, while Paulie lingered a bit too long in the living room forcing Steve to scold him lightly before handing him the utensils when he finally left his toys. The two children worked together to set the table and Steve was grateful that they didn’t dissolve into their usual fussing as they did so.

“Okay kids, Dad’ll be home soon, so let’s get those hands washed,” Steve instructed, offering each of them a pat on the head for a job well done. “I’m going to get your brother.”

“Okay Daddy,” the two said obediently as they gathered at the step stool by the sink. Steve was tempted to keep an eye on them, but there was a baby that still needed his attention. 

Little Riley laid happily in his bassinet out in the living room, smiling a drool coated smile as he tried to fit the end of his rattle between his lips. Steve grinned and scooped him up, wiping plump lips with the tip of his bib. He loved the stage Riley was in, too young to say or do anything aside from drool and smile. It was the perfect age for cuddling and stealing kisses. 

“You ready to eat?” Steve crooned before peppering chubby cheeks with rapid little kisses. He was rewarded with a squealing giggle that was like bells in his ears as plump legs kicked happily in his arms.

The sound of keys rattling on the other side of the door reached his ears and Steve smiled and tickled Riley’s belly in response. “Do you know who that is?” he asked teasingly just as the front door swung open.

Sam stepped in, looking tired and pleased with himself all at the same time. The kids must have heard him coming, because Sarah and Paulie came charging straight from the kitchen right to his side the moment his feet had passed the threshold.

“Hey, hey! What’d we say about running in the house?” Sam chided playfully even as he allowed Sarah and Paulie to crawl all over him.

Steve grinned and walked over to Sam, planting a quick peck to the planes of his cheek. “Have a good day?”

“I’m beaten, but not broken,” Sam joked as he always did while holding Paulie in his arm. The sound of another set of footsteps coming up the stairs just outside reached their ears. “I found a stray dog on my way home. Hope you don’t mind me bringing him here.”

Bucky poked his head into the doorway then, a dry smile on his face as he regarded Sam wearily. “As long as I’m not eating table scrapes, Wilson, I won’t make you eat those words,” he grumbled just as the children began their cries of “Uncle Bucky!” and refocused their attention on him.

“Uncle Bucky, I drew you a picture!” Sarah practically shouted as she dashed from the door over to the room she shared with Paulie before heading back with a piece of paper clutched in her hands.

Bucky bent down in order to lift Sarah with his good arm and get a better look at her stick figure portrait. He gave an exaggerated whistle of approval as Sarah pointed to each figure and identified who they were meant to be. “Wow! Steve we’ve got another artist in the family,” Bucky joked, before turning his attention back to Sarah. “Can I keep this?” 

“I made it for you,” she told him again.

“I’m honored! I came for dinner and I’m leaving with a masterpiece.”

“I wanna make a picture for Uncle Bucky too,” Paulie whined.

“Hey, where’s my loving?” Sam joked with mock hurt as he watched the children continue to fight for Bucky’s attention. “A man’s forgotten in his own home. It’s a shame.”

“Well, I’d let you get some baby kisses from Riley,” Steve said teasingly, bouncing the baby in his arm for emphasis, “but I see four sets of hands that need to be washed first.”

“We washed our hands, Daddy,” Sarah pouted as Bucky set her back down on the ground.

He shook his head. “That was before you crawled all over Dad and Uncle Buck. Now you’ll have to wash up again. Remember: you don’t wash you don’t eat.” The kids pouted, but marched back into the kitchen. The sound of running water reached his ears as Steve turned back towards Bucky and Sam. “That goes for the two of you, as well.”

“Yes Captain,” Sam grumbled, rolling up his sleeves to wash up with the kids. 

Bucky snorted and gave his side a playful bump with his right shoulder. “Don’t get too cocky, punk,” he grumbled before reaching down to ruffle Riley’s hair. “How’s little Jimmy doing today?”

Steve rolled his eyes at the joke. “His name is ‘Riley,’ Buck. You know that.”

“Well, the next one’s being named after _me_!” he said, his threat turning all the more hollow by the smile curling his lips.

“Who says there’s gonna be another one?”

This time it was Bucky who rolled his eyes. “The way you two are, there’s gonna be a _dozen_ of ‘em in no time.”

Steve laughed and followed Bucky into the kitchen where they all gathered around the table, the scent of beef stew and warm bread filling the air. The table was barely big enough for four, but they managed to make do fitting in five just fine. 

They bowed their heads and held hands, Steve placing his right hand on Bucky’s left shoulder to accommodate for the missing limb. It was Sarah’s turn to say grace and she did well, thanking the Lord for the food and the day and her family. Steve smiled in approval and Sam served the food once the prayer was done. Steve sat Riley on his lap to feed him his meal, because it was easier than using the highchair and Riley smiled and drooled more than he ate. After Riley had finished enough of his food Steve moved on to devouring his own dinner.

The children finished their portion first and cleared their plates before heading back into the living room to no doubt whip up a fresh batch of drawings for Bucky and Sam. 

The baseball game had long since ended and Bucky switched to another station as Sam bounced Riley on his knee. 

“That kid’s getting bigger each day,” Bucky smiled, leaning back in his chair and drumming his fingers on the table. “He’ll be walking in no time.”

“Don’t rush him,” Sam teased as he rubbed soothing circles on the infant’s stomach. “Let him stay small for a bit longer.”

“You don’t need to sit with him, Sam,” Steve whispered. “You look beat.”

“Hey, I may not be a super soldier, but I’ve still got a bit of pep in me,” he joked. “Besides, I don’t get enough time playing with this little pot belly.” Sam emphasized his point by lifting Riley into the air until his stomach was level with Sam’s face and pretending to eat him up. Riley responded with happy squeaks as he always did and Steve found his smile growing wider. 

“Well, if you insist.” He gathered up the rest of the empty dishes from the table and dumped them into the sink. “It’s getting pretty late Buck. Think you’ll be spending the night again?”

Steve watched as Sam gave him a not so subtle _look_ even as Bucky gave a thoughtful hum. “Nah, I need the walk. ‘Sides, if I keep spending the night here, the landlord’ll change my locks and rent out my room.”

“Then you better high tail it outta here. The lamps are on and everything.”

Steve laughed at Sam’s mockingly urgent tone and turned his attention back to the dishes that were waiting for him. 

Somehow the world had managed to recover nicely after the war, Hydra and the Nazis were all a distant memory now that he was back in Brooklyn, a better Brooklyn than the one he had left behind. People had jobs again, there was food on their tables, and he could enjoy a walk in the park without worrying that his body would fail him midway through.

He breathed in the night air, enjoying the way it filled his lungs without strain, before twisting the faucet on and allowing the water to gather. It was strange what he felt grateful for at times, like meeting Sam in those Hydra barracks and finding someone real and good who looked at him like he was a person, not a walking political ad. Or that Bucky had survived that fall with only a busted arm, because a missing limb was tough to deal with, but not as much as a dead friend. Then there was this apartment, small and run down but filled with life and love. It was more than Steve had ever hoped he could have when he had been a scrawny little no body trying to sneak into the army a dozen times.

Everything felt warm and right and good, as if the stars had found a way to align themselves just for him. His smile widened as the thought settled comfortably in his mind just as the walls began to shake and his head started to buzz.

*

Sam had been the one to find Steve, which was no surprise at all. When you lived with an Avenger (and were a part superhero yourself) you tended to walk in on some strange things. Finding Captain America standing stalk still with a glazed over look in his eyes as a tentacle creature protruded from the center of his chest was certainly the strangest by far.

Panic had seized him instantly, because upon seeing Steve’s prone body Sam had felt certain that his friend was dead. Yet when he took a moment to inspect him closer Sam was able to see that there was a fair amount of color in his skin and there were even faint puffs of air escaping his slack mouth. When he touched him, Steve didn’t so much as flinch and calling to him had just as little effect as the plant… creature… _thing_ stayed in place while Steve remained unresponsive.

The creature looked like a bouquet of black, fleshy roses all bunched together around a nest of thick purple vines that were littered with ugly spikes. One of the tentacle spikes was wrapped around Steve’s throat, while the others coiled around his chest and arms, clinging to him as if they had sprouted straight from his heart.

“Shit Steve,” Sam breathed as he reached for the vines only for the slimy little strands protruding from the folds of the petals to start waggling about in the air. For a moment his fingers flinched with a heavy reluctance to touch the unknown creature, but Sam pushed the creeping fear aside and reached forward. The plant creature was stuck on like cement, its coils seeming to tighten their hold with every tug and Sam found his face burning with effort and his skin glistening with sweat by the time he gave up. 

He couldn’t see how this could have happened. Sam had been away for a few days, but he had just spoken with Steve that morning and everything had been fine, Steve had sounded and acted normal, but now here he was catatonic with an alien monster growing from his chest. 

Sam frowned and looked down at his own hands and found that his palms were red and bleeding thanks to the thorn like spikes he had been wrestling with just seconds ago. Clearly he was out of his depths and needed some serious backup.

*

“The hot water’s acting up again.” 

Steve looked up just in time to see Sam enter the bedroom, his night clothes already pulled on and clinging to the patches of skin that were still damp from the shower. “We oughta give that landlord an earful,” Steve grumbled as he guzzled another cup of water. His head was feeling better, it had stopped bothering him the second the buzzing had ended, but the memory of it still sat with him and he didn’t like it. Of course he hadn’t said a word to Sam, because there was no need to have him worrying over nothing. “He was supposed to come and take a look at those pipes last week.”

“You’d think the man would get the lead out, Captain America being one of his tenants and all.” 

Steve huffed a quick laugh and put his glass aside as Sam slipped into bed beside him. “Yeah, well I guess he’s not much of a fan.”

Sam smiled and placed his head playfully in Steve’s lap. “How were the kids today? They behave themselves?”

“They were fussin’ a bit earlier, but otherwise they were as good as ever.” Steve ran his fingers against the deep muscles on Sam’s biceps as his right hand cradled the top of his head, enjoying the feel of the short hairs against his palms. Suddenly all lingering thoughts of his momentary headache had disappeared.

“Hm, I guess that means we should keep ‘em a little while longer.”

“Bucky thinks we’re gonna have another.”

Sam snorted, his hot breath reaching Steve’s legs even through the fabric separating them. “Not right now, we’re not! Riley’s not even teething yet. ‘Sides if we’re gonna have another, then we’d need a bigger place. Maybe you should take Stark up on his offer to buy us a place on Park Avenue.”

Steve did his best not to snort too loudly at the comment, his eyes flickering briefly to the cradle set in the corner of the bedroom where their youngest was currently sound asleep. “And have my kids growin’ up rich and entitled?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“It’s not like we’d be askin’ for a loan,” Sam reminded him, doing his best to shrug his shoulders while lying with his head pillowed on Steve’s thigh.

“Might as well be.”

Sam shrugged his shoulders, pushing himself off of Steve’s lap and slouching lazily against him so that his cheek was now resting on his shoulder. “Fine, we’ll table the moving discussion for now,” he said before brushing his lips against the curve of Steve’s neck. “Let’s just work on makin’ that fourth baby.”

A small blend between a sigh and a laugh bubbled in Steve’s throat as Sam continued to trail his lips along his neck. “I thought you said …”

“Hey, we’re just practicin’,” he teased, his lips barely venturing away from Steve’s skin as his warm hands found their way between the sheets and down the front of his pants. “Nothin’ wrong with a little practice.”

Steve sighed, practically melting into the bed as Sam took a moment to grab the jar they kept on the nightstand. They stayed as quiet as they were able, as they always did whenever they could find a moment to be together in a two bedroom apartment filled with kids. Steve shook as Sam entered him, his skin prickled and flushed against the sensation and the effort it took to stay silent. 

The light from their bedside table was dim at best, the only light within the room, but it caught in Sam’s eyes and when he smiled down at him Steve swore he saw a twinkle in his gaze.

A small huffed sound escaped him as Steve pressed his forehead against Sam’s shoulder, breathing deep his musky scent while Sam continued to rock inside of him. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt this good and warm and solid. 

_Steve!_

His heart thumped to a halt in his chest, seeming to crash into his ribs at the sound of the voice. It was a woman’s voice, distant and hollow yet hauntingly familiar, but from Sam’s steady rhythm it was clear he hadn’t heard anything. When the walls began to tremble and the bedside lamp flickered Steve couldn’t keep quiet.

“Stop,” he gasped, tapping Sam’s back to let him know he was serious. “Sam, stop!”

Sam went still above him, his darkened eyes focusing on Steve’s face as the twinkling gleam seemed to die out in exchange for quiet concern. “What’s wrong?”

Steve frowned and looked around them. The apartment seemed fine, the walls looked fine even though they had been rattling just a moment ago and the light didn’t seem to shift at all even when he stared at the lampshade. “Didn’t you feel that?” he whispered urgently.

He knew the answer before Sam even spoke, yet that didn’t make the look of unease Sam offered him any less frustrating to see. “Feel what?”

Steve closed his eyes and allowed his head to sink back into the pillow beneath him. He pressed his palm against his forehead and tried to recall the voice he had just heard. It had seemed so familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it.

“You feelin’ okay?” Sam whispered to him, his fingers caressing Steve’s cheeks and for a moment he was worried that Sam would pull away. 

He shook his head and held Sam’s bicep in a grip that was just firm enough to communicate that Steve wanted him to stay put. “I’m fine,” he promised, kissing his cheek. “I’m okay.”

*

Sam called on Natasha when it became clear he was getting nowhere on his own, because she always seemed like the right person to turn to in a crisis. 

Natasha had consistently come off as mostly unflappable during the brief time he had known her, but even she had to pause at the sight of the creature clinging to Steve’s chest. She regarded Steve and the plant monster critically, studying both for a few quiet seconds before deciding to test how deep this trance really went. He cringed when Natasha offered Steve’s cheeks a few quick slaps before screaming his own name into his ears. When that offered no reaction Natasha gave the plant a few zaps with her Widow’s bite, but that only caused the coils to twitch a bit as the creature hissed in displeasure while continuing to cling to Steve like moss on a tree.

By that point Natasha decided it was time to call in the big guns.

-

In a weird way it made sense that Natasha knew a guy (Fury) who knew a wizard. Said wizard being in New York though…? Yeah, that kinda made sense, too. They dragged Steve’s body into the haunted house in Greenwich Village to see a guy named Strange.

“ _Doctor_ Strange,” he corrected when they arrived at the “Sanctum Sanctorum” as he called it. “And I’m a _sorcerer_ , not a ‘wizard.’”

Sam rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything as Strange proceeded to examine Steve’s prone body where they had laid him out in the lounge. 

Strange checked Steve’s eyes and frowned when his pupils barely dilated. He pressed a finger to his wrist and tested for a pulse before giving a low, clinical hum and looking over the creature protruding from his sternum. Steve was looking paler than when they had found him, his breathing was getting shallower with every second and Sam was starting to wonder if maybe they were just too late.

From of the corner of his eyes Sam caught the flash of a golden light and when he looked back at Strange he saw that his palms were beginning to glow. “This creature isn’t demonic, but it’s definitely not of our world,” Strange announced. “It’s a plant called the ‘black mercy.’ It’s telepathic and traps its victims by ensnaring them into a dream like trance of their perfect reality and feeding off the physic energy they produce in their sleep.” 

“So this whole time he’s been dreaming?” Natasha asked as she placed a skeptical hand to Steve’s forehead.

Strange nodded and lowered his hands to his sides, the golden glow evaporating from his fingers as he frowned thoughtfully at Steve and seemed to consider the situation. “He’s stuck in a dream he doesn’t want to wake up from. Forcing him out of the black mercy’s trance won’t be easy.”

“But it’ll kill him if we don’t remove it,” Sam concluded as he reached out to touch the back of Steve’s hand. His skin felt warmer than he had expected, but it was still a bit too clammy for his liking.

“In time,” Strange confirmed solemnly as he rubbed his hands together self-consciously. “I’ll, uh, have to gather a few things to prepare for the extraction spell. Give me just a moment.”

Somehow Strange must have slipped away into some portal or something, because just as he had excused himself he disappeared from the room, leaving Sam with only Natasha and the still very unconscious Steve.

Natasha sighed and pulled her hand away from Steve’s forehead in order to pull up a chair and sit beside him. “What do you think he’s dreaming of?” she asked. Her eyes never left Steve’s face and Sam wondered if she was somehow trying to get a look inside his head.

Sam shrugged and maneuvered himself around the antique looking couch where Steve’s body had been laid out. The whole place seemed like a museum or a condemned theme park attraction, but as creepy as the surroundings were, Sam couldn’t keep his mind on anything except Steve. 

“Probably imagining he’s back in the forties with his buddies,” Sam ventured, because that seemed like the sort of thing Steve would want. He could almost imagine it: Steve married to Peggy Carter living in a nice house somewhere upstate with a white picket fence and a big backyard for the dogs and their two point five kids to run around.

Natasha nodded mostly to herself and all the while they were standing and staring, the alien plant monster was sucking Steve dry. “It feels… sort of wrong. To take whatever it is he’s dreaming about away from him.”

“What?” Sam gaped, frowning at Natasha for even thinking such a thing. “He’s _dying_. This plant is _killing him_ and you think-”

“Wouldn’t you give anything to have the world you always wanted at your fingers?” Natasha shot back, her blue eyes firm and level as she gazed up at him. “Yeah it’s just a dream, but he’s actually experiencing it. Maybe Bucky never fell from that train or he and Carter actually got to be together. Whatever it is, it’s something he probably never though he’d experience… and we’re going to take it all away from him.”

For a moment, Sam was silent, because even if it was crazy he did understand. To live in a world where his dad was still up and walking around, where he could share one more beer with Riley was a world he would sacrifice a lot to see. 

*

Feeding the baby had never been quite so difficult before. Steve frowned as he sat in the kitchen cradling Riley in the crock of his arm as he held the still warm bottle of milk in his hand. Riley wasn’t being fussy or difficult, he was drinking contently the way a good baby should, yet something about it seemed off. 

Out in the living room Sarah and Paulie were playing quietly. They had finished their own breakfast quickly and had excused themselves and cleared the table without having to be reminded. Now they were sitting cross legged on the floor, a box of crayons spread out between them and drawing a slew of pictures as out beyond the window the sun was shining on a beautiful new day.

This was his home; this was his family and his life. Yet every now and again the walls would shake, trembling with such force that the frames began to rattle and the ceiling would crack, bits of debris sprinkling to the ground with the aftershocks and each time it happened no one would bat an eye except for Steve.

His eyes felt wet and warm as he looked down at the infant in his lap. He was beautiful, with loose brown curls and golden skin and when Steve pressed the little body to his chest he smelled like love.

The baby cooed against him, tiny little fingers pressing against his chest as hot tears began to fall down Steve’s face.

“Hope you don’t mind if I get the coffee goin’,” Sam said as he came bustling into the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his shirt still unbuttoned. 

He didn’t notice that the windows were rattling or feel the vibrations in the floorboards, just like Sarah and Paulie didn’t.

Steve stood and looked out at the living room, gazing at the two children one last time. He wanted to remember them, his son and daughter, how sweet they were, how nicely they played together and the feelings they inspired inside of him. He bent down and kissed Riley’s cheek, enjoying the feel of smooth baby skin against his lips.

He turned to Sam and saw that despite the fact that the ceiling was now cracked and crumbling his eyes were fixed on Steve as if _he_ were the one coming apart. “Steve? What’s wrong?”

Steve smiled, watery and sad as he handed the baby over to him. “I’m sorry Sam,” he found himself saying, the words barely managing to escape from the tightness in his throat. “I… I have to leave. I have to go home.”

Sam’s frown deepened, hurt and confusion crossing in his eyes as he looked from Riley squirming in his arms over to Steve. “What are you talking about?” he asked, his voice utterly lost. “You _are_ home.”

He sighed and shook his head, the tears falling from his eyes and down his chin. No matter how much he blinked they wouldn’t stop and they didn’t stop the walls from splitting apart like splinters. “I want to believe that,” he told him, “because I love this place. This apartment is everything I ever wanted; from the water stains in the ceiling to the nails in the floorboard it’s perfect. Those children are perfect, this life, this _world_ , you! It’s all perfect. It’s everything I ever could have hoped for… but it’s not real.”

“Steve?” Sam whispered as he cradled Riley against his own chest.

A light was building around them, golden and bright. It was nearly too much and for a moment he couldn’t quite make out Sam or the baby, but he wanted to keep looking at them for as long as he could. “I’ll never forget how this feels,” he said. “I don’t want to forget. But I have to move on.”

Sam started to say something, to protest, but the words were lost as the ground beneath them fell away and the golden light consumed everything.

*

Steve woke with a start, his chest feeling as if it had been set on fire as he took in the unfamiliar surroundings that came rushing towards him at an insane speed. There was something above him, a creature that looked like an octopus that had grown spikes along its tentacles. It was thrashing about in the air above him, its mouth wide open and hissing as an equally thorny tongue whipped back and forth in front of Steve’s face. 

Steve barked and tried to scramble back, but there was nowhere to go. He had reached the ledge of whatever he had been resting on and found himself crashing to the floor as a bright light surrounded the monster, lifting it into the air.

Someone spoke, an unfamiliar voice, and the light around the creature grew brighter until it was completely bathed in it. The light flashed too brilliantly and Steve found himself turning away. When he looked back the monster was gone and he was lying on the floor of an old house surrounded by Natasha and Sam and the man who had managed to dissolve the monster.

Steve felt his heartbeat gradually begin to slow as he watched the man standing above him take equally long steadying breaths. The tips of the man’s fingers had been glowing with the same intense golden light that had surrounded the tentacle creature, but it slowly began to recede until his hands were normal once more, only a slight tremble running through them. “Captain Rogers,” he breathed his words labored and deliberate. “Welcome back to the waking world.”

-

The real world was a strange unwelcoming place for Steve. For the first few days everything felt uncomfortable and wrong, like a pair of shoes he had out grown, but was forced to wear again. He thought about the dream world often, doing his best to recall every detail of the fantasy world that the Black Mercy had trapped him in. It had all been perfect, too perfect, and that should have been the first clue that it was all a lie. 

Everything that he had seen and felt had been like a secret desire brought to life: the kids, the apartment… Bucky… Sam…

To say that he had never thought about Sam that way would be a full blown lie, but those thoughts had never gone beyond quiet daydreams kept close to the chest. His feelings for Sam had started fast and grown strong before he could even wrap his head around what they meant, but exploring those feelings would be nothing short of a complicated risk Steve hadn’t been willing to take. If they took a step forward and stumbled, if Sam rejected him or things turned out badly, then Steve would be left with one less friend, one less connection to a world he already didn’t feel fully welcomed in and he just couldn’t bear the thought. 

Yet in his dream it had been easy, because they had skipped the hard part and were already there, together with a firm foundation that they could easily build on without fear. He still remembered Sam’s touch like it was yesterday, the heat between them when they moved together, the dark glow in his eyes when he looked at Steve, and when Sam had spoken to him about love and home Steve had felt it deep in his bones. 

Now Steve was back in a world where he and Sam were just friends, where Sam had decided to back off and give Steve the space needed to adjust to his surroundings and after everything Steve was grateful to have a little distance.

Steve touched a hand to the center of his chest where the Black Mercy had latched on and fed. It itched like an old wound, like a scab that was slowly healing over, even though the markings left behind were no more than tiny needle sized bumps that had practically disappeared overnight. He wondered where it had come from, how it had found its way to him, but remembering anything from before was heavy and hard.

Chances were that Steve would never find out the Black Mercy’s origins, but he knew for certain that he didn’t really care. What concerned him more was the bitter sting of betrayal that weighed down on him whenever he thought about his friends. Natasha had been absent from his fantasy world and now that he was awake and able to process everything, it seemed so wrong to have created an ideal world where she didn’t exist. It was almost as wrong as the perverted image of Sam that the plant had constructed to fit Steve’s desires. He had a feeling that if he were to tell his friends any of this they wouldn’t care, but it bothered Steve more than he wanted to admit.

“Want some company?”

Steve looked up and saw that he was no longer alone with his thoughts. In the dim, predawn light it was hard to clearly make out his expression, but Steve would recognize Sam anywhere. He had gone down to the compound’s track seeking a bit of fresh air and a chance to clear his head since sleep had lost its appeal to him recently. Before the incident it was typical for Sam to join him on his morning runs, but the last few days he had been alone to the point that Steve suddenly felt unusually awkward in his friend’s company. He did his best to make it seem like he had been bending over to tie a shoelace instead of studying the long healed wound on his chest before standing to greet Sam.

“Surprised to see you up so early,” Steve commented, trying his best to shoot for a wry tone and a good natured smile, but falling flat on both tasks.

Yet Sam didn’t call him out on it, choosing instead to shrug his shoulders before starting down the track at a leisurely pace. Steve followed suit. “Well, what can I say? I’ve gotten a taste for sleeping in recently, but I gotta get myself back on the early rising track.” 

Steve offered him a short chuckle at the joke, not that he quite felt the humor. They continued down the track at what could be described as a brisk walk. The urge to take off sprinting coursed through the muscles in his legs, but Steve fought against it. He had been more or less avoiding Sam for a while now, so it wouldn’t seem right or fair to purposely leave him behind in the dust. 

The world was still awash in the grayish blue of early morning, but bits of orange light were starting to split the horizon as they followed along the curve of the track in relative silence. “Ya know,” Sam began, breaking the stillness of the new day, “I’ve been given you plenty of space, because even if I don’t understand what happened I get that it was a lot to process, but you really need to stop beating yourself up about this.”

“What makes you think I’m beating myself up?” Steve asked and was instantly rewarded with a knowing look.

“I can’t imagine it was easy, leaving it all behind,” Sam went on as if Steve hadn’t said anything. “But…”

“I had everything Sam,” Steve found himself cutting in. He knew that whatever advice Sam had to offer was well intentioned, but in that moment he didn’t want to hear it. Steve sighed and looked towards the horizon where the sun was just starting to peak out. “I had a home and a family and…” He frowned and shook his head. “Breaking away from all of that? It was like tearing off a piece of my own body. I can’t go back to that world. I’m stuck here where everything feels bitter and wrong, but that’s how I know I’m awake. It’s frustrating.”

For several agonizing moments the only sound between them was the pounding of their rubber soles against the pavement as the early morning wind pushed through the trees. Anyone else would have left things there, packed up their good intentions and left, but not Sam Wilson.

“Damn,” he said after a pointed pause. “I guess I _really_ don’t know what you were going through.”

Steve laughed, the sound short and sharp, cutting straight from his nose and out his mouth and it surprised him a bit that it was actually a genuine laugh this time. 

“But the real world… it doesn’t have to be all bad,” Sam told him patiently. “I don’t know what you saw while you were under, but maybe you could try pulling a few things from that fantasy and bringing it out here? Maybe there’s a way to make things feel a bit more like that dream?”

Sam’s words had been spoken in his usual mild, steady tone, but to Steve it sent his heart jumping in his chest. He closed his eyes and thought of his dream, thought of the stable Bucky and the children, thought of the loving home built in a familiar world, thought of the Sam from his dreams… There were so many things he couldn’t make into a reality, but only one that he could.

The nerves coursed through him like a small jolt. He told himself to fight down the doubt and distant thoughts of risk as he raised his arms high above his head before reaching to the base of his hair line and folding his hands there. Steve usually walked that way after a grueling work out (rare) to help himself breath, but instead used his own muscular arms as a sort of barrier between him and Sam. Looking away from him somehow made things a bit easier.

“I, uh, do you have plans for today?” Steve asked, his throat feeling remarkably tight as he spoke.

Even without looking Steve could picture the confused look that Sam was likely giving him at the sudden shift in topics. It took a few seconds, but at last Sam answered him with an uncertain, “Not really. Why?”

Steve’s heart was beating so loud that it was practically deafening and if he hadn’t run this course a thousand times he thought for certain he would fall. “Well, do you think you could join me for some coffee?”

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, I copped out with where the Black Mercy came from, but it was just a means to an end. I've been wanting to write a "trapped in paradise" story for a long time, and then when I realized I could use the Black Mercy to do that it was perfect.
> 
> Hopefully you're familiar with the Superman comic/Justice League episode "For the Man Who Has Everything," because it's a classic story. If not, this should still mostly work.


End file.
